Cure for Boredom: The Handmaid's Tale
by Zoop
Summary: Sequel to "Cure for Boredom." While Lynn and Ghrudur prepare to greet their newborn, handmaid Dagmær is put in charge of an unexpected, and most uncooperative, prisoner in Meduseld. He was spared as a courtesy to Ghrudur, in hopes that he would be like the Uruk smith. How wrong they were...
1. Prologue: Never a Dull Moment

**Prologue: Never a Dull Moment**

Azûr staggered to the stream's bank, his back on fire, ears still ringing from the pounding required to set the lash to his flesh. Sinking to his knees, he dipped his hands into the cool water and drank deeply. The trees were thick enough between him and the camp he'd left behind to shield him from prying eyes as he stiffly peeled off his ragged shirt. Not for the first time, he regretted opening his mouth in anything like a challenge to Nauronk.

The small band's leader was huge, even by Uruk-hai standards. He'd led armies in the field during the War, miraculously escaping the Last Battle with the horselords with only a missing eye. Azûr, too, had crawled away from that battle more or less intact, but few others shared their fortune. He knew of none who made it to safety, such as it was in a world suddenly bereft of the Shadow.

He felt it, when the Dark Lord fell, as had they all. Being Isengarders, they hadn't expected to, but there was enough of Mordor in them to send them all into spasms of pain and nightmares that clung to their minds even in their waking hours. Then the Men had come.

Not right away, of course. They'd had their own affairs to nudge into order before they took on the 'duty' of obliterating what remained of the Orc presence. Orcs sought refuge in numbers, setting aside clan rivalries, only to have their tentatively forged alliances severed along with their heads. Azûr heard about these settlements when their destruction was whispered of by a refugee fleeing the wrath of Men. But he only saw Orcs in retreat; never Uruk-hai.

So they kept moving their camp, meandering into the sparsely populated north, hoping to eventually find a place to rest, settle, _live_. That is, Azûr was ever hopeful of such peace. Nauronk dearly wished to take as many whiteskins with him as he could, no matter that such acts brought unwanted attention. Their northward path was often diverted by the stray scent of Men, and Nauronk's obsessive need to slay the source. While such forays supplied them with Man-flesh and kept them fed well enough, once they reached Rohan, the settlements grew farther apart, and lone Men wandering in the open became more scarce.

Though Azûr despised the short stint they spent in Gondor, doggedly following Nauronk's lead and aiming to join with the Dark Lord's forces, he liked Rohan even less. The sooner they left its rolling hills and grasslands behind, the better, to his mind. It was what he and Nauronk clashed about more than once, and what earned Azûr a sound thrashing each time.

He flexed his shoulders, feeling the tightening of his flesh across his back. Some of the wounds were infected, he was sure. The old general was good at what he did, and forbade any from healing the hapless Uruk. Many of the whip lashes were across his shoulders, impossible to treat by himself. All he could do was what he did now; soaking a rag and trickling water down over the tortured skin to relieve some of the pain. When his humiliation was subdued for a bit, he'd return and grovel as was expected. For now, though, he indulged his quiet whimpering.

* * *

Hours later, he returned to camp. Nauronk glared at him but said nothing. The big Uruk did, however, cuff Azûr on the head in passing. Just as a reminder of his place.

"Why you let him do that?" Gimub asked. But he spoke in an undertone, mindful that any sympathy for the Uruk was grounds for like treatment.

"Think I got a choice?" Azûr grumbled sullenly.

Gimub stared at him, blinking. "'Course you got a choice. You could keep yer fucking mouth shut." Shaking his head, he turned away and continued muttering under his breath, "Open yer mouth, get yer ass beat. Close it, get ignored. Don't seem that hard to figure out to me."

"Somebody's gotta think round here," Azûr growled. "Don't wanna go raiding no fucking village. Don't care how close they are, or what spoils he's wanting."

"Yeah, yer the brains, eh?" Gimub snorted sarcastically.

"Just wanna get north, is all," Azûr muttered, rolling his shoulders and wincing. Gimub narrowed his eyes and looked the younger Uruk over.

"Want me to take a peek?" he murmured. "Got some stuff. Nauronk don't need to know about it."

Azûr shot him a hostile glare. "I ain't lettin' you fuck my ass, Gimub," he snarled.

Shrugging, Gimub poked at the campfire with a stick. "Gotta give to get, whelp. Ain't no free ride 'round here. Wanna fester and whatnot, that's yer business."

Azûr snorted with disgust. "It don't hurt _that_ much, _pushdug_," he growled.

"Yer lucky Nauronk's more the hittin' kind," Gimub pointed out with a snicker. "Back in the barracks, you'd'uh got yer fill of it and no mistake, little snot like you."

"Not _my_ barracks," Azûr muttered. "Good lads in there. _Pizbûr_ was fair enough. Didn't put up with the kinduh shit _your_ lot got up to."

"Hmph," Gimub snorted, unperturbed. "Wasn't so bad. Better at night, when most of'em was asleep. Get a nice, quiet fuck outta someone then." He smiled wistfully.

"Whiteskins're better," Azûr recalled. "Had one once. Female. Never look at an Orc ass again, you have one'uh _their_ females."

"We weren't all so lucky as _you_," Gimub snapped. "Take what you could get, most of the time."

Azûr's brow furrowed, remembering the one time he'd fucked a whiteskin. It was an ugly memory. He'd bragged of his deed later, of course; it was expected. But there was something... wrong about it. He just didn't know _what, _exactly.

It didn't matter now. Shrugging it off, he stared into the fire and wondered how they were going to make it through another winter. Nauronk's hunger commanded as much as his formidable stature. Last winter, the other three Uruk-hai nearly starved so that _he_ could be satisfied. Even after a reasonably good summer, the lean times of late fall were beginning to tell already. Both Gimub and Azûr were already skin and bones. The smallest of them, Gazbrûf couldn't seem to put on enough weight to hold his own kilt up, and had to cinch it with a rope.

Perhaps Nauronk had been a commander in Isengard, but they were over a year out of that place, long since lost their Master's Voice, and no longer heard the whispers of the Shadow. They'd come from the scattered remnants of their folk, and hadn't known each other at all until the Last Battle and the flooding forced them together. Why did they obey Nauronk, who had done little to earn their loyalty?

They could not afford to do otherwise. He was an officer for a reason. Maybe he abused them, but he'd managed to keep them alive, even though sometimes he took them too close to that fine line over which discovery of their existence and immediate death resided.

A year ago, the excitement of such uncertainty had been envigorating. Now it was a nuisance. The emptiness of their bellies spoke much louder than the need to kill the horselords, at least for Azûr.

It looked to be another spare night, too. Nauronk had taken the meager kills of his followers, a rabbit and a squirrel, and already eaten all of the flesh. What was left was the marrow from the bones; when he tossed them to Gimub and Azûr as an afterthought, the two nearly came to blows, scrambling for the scraps.

Neither spared a thought for Gazbrûf, on watch and deprived of even so little a ration.

As he cracked open a bone and savored the marrow, Azûr's ears pricked and nose twitched. He straightened with alarm, his meal forgotten.

"The fuck?" Gimub muttered, staring in the same direction. Running feet were approaching. The Uruk grabbed the nearest weapon, shoving Azûr's hand away as he reached for the same. They had too few to go around, and Gimub was damned if he'd be the one without a blade.

Nauronk leaped to his feet and unsheathed both his swords. The three Uruk-hai assumed a fighting stance. Azûr trembled, but bared his claws and teeth. It was all he had.

Gazbrûf's thin form burst through the trees into the clearing, a frantic and desperate look on his face. "Men!" he cried. "Comin' this wa-..."

There was a loud _thunk_ that echoed ominously. Gazbrûf's face went slack with surprise, then he fell to his knees. A moment later, he tipped forward and landed face down, an arrow in his back.

The trees erupted with horselords, on foot and brandishing bright blades. Nauronk roared a furious challenge.

"_Throqu matum, ninkriipu!_" he bellowed, and leaped at the closest soldier.

The clash of swords rang all about Azûr. Two Men circled about the battle and came at him, and his breath quickened in panic. He roared a warning and took a swing at one, but it was easily dodged. He felt the sting of a blade tear open his ragged shirt and slice across his ribs. Instinctively recoiling, he backed away.

He did not notice the two horsemen exchange a look, nor did he see the hand gripping a sword hilt descend. There was a sharp pain in his temple, then blackness.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Pizbûr_ = military rank equivalent to sergeant_  
Throqu matum, ninkriipu!_ = Eat death, whiteskins!


	2. The Day Nothing Happened

**The Day Nothing Happened**

When I came into milady's service, I did not know what to expect. There were many tales being told, rumors of her wantonness, whispers behind hands as eyes watched her walk in the company of her Orc. All were certain Éomer King had gone mad, allowing them house room in the Golden Hall itself.

Even those such as myself, who remembered her brief stay during the war, could not fathom the depravity she must possess, to lie abed with one of _them_. She'd seemed strong-willed then, more fiercely so now. I could not help but admire her, in spite of all else.

I began tending to her needs at the behest of Erna, who had trained me to assist in all manner of healing duties. The first time I was in their room with the Orc, I could not bring myself to look upon him. A quick glance was all I could bear, for even his gentlest expressions filled me with fear.

Yet I had no choice. I was not from a family of any means, and so could not choose my employment. In truth, until the day when Erna called me to this duty, I had no reason to complain. I served the Lady Eowyn herself, until that day she disappeared from Dunharrow along with the men marching to Gondor. Soon after her return to Edoras, she departed for the last time in the company of Lord Faramir, her husband. I remained in Rohan, for I am Rohirrim, and I do not wish to be anywhere else.

There were no ladies in need of a maid in Meduseld for the longest time, it seemed, until the winter _they_ came. I was assigned within days of their arrival, and dreaded that first moment in the Orc's company as though walking to my own execution.

To my surprise, he was quiet. He kept his head bowed and his eyes down. He had frightening eyes, and I found myself glad of his concession. He never spoke to me or came near me, and eventually I was able to manage, though I feared being alone with him.

A few months ago, I was in their room while he was at Holger's forge. Milady Lynn was scratching away at a parchment, composing a letter to the King of Gondor, of all people! She was gone with child by the Orc, her belly beginning to show. Though many thought poorly of her for it, I could not. She was a good woman and kind. I simply... overlooked the making of the child. I was young, only having sixteen summers, and still believed any child a blessed gift. Yet I dreaded the coming of hers... and _his_, for there would be no mistaking how it came to be.

By that time, however, I already considered her a great lady, for she had done brave deeds for Rohan during the war, and was always friendly to me. It was strange to be considered the equal of a woman who wrote casual missives to kings, yet she seemed to think of me as such. She wanted me to call her simply Lynn, and huffed with impatience when long habit made me forget. She took to calling me by my childhood nickname, Dagga. My younger brother was never able to say Dagmær and bequeathed me with a much easier name. I suspect Lynn had as much difficulty as he did.

It was an unseasonably cool day. The Orc was at the forge, and would be there at least another hour. I'd brought out the tub and ordered water delivered to fill it. Most folk unknowingly commented on his filthiness, yet I found him to be just the opposite. Every day, he wanted a bath to scrub away the sweat and soot of the forge, even before he took his evening meal.

The windows were open, the breeze undoing what the late autumn heat had done to the room. I was about my duties, exchanging the spent linens for crisp and clean, when Erna arrived to fetch Lynn for a walk.

"You have been cooped up for weeks," the woman chided. "The exercise will do you good."

"All right, all right, don't rush me," Lynn grumbled, and rose stiffly from her chair. "Please tell me feeling like crap is all part of the wonders of motherhood," she added, rubbing her back.

"Tis a blessing in disguise," Erna told her. I could hear the amusement in her voice, and see the small quirk of a smile on her face.

"That is one stupid-ass disguise," Lynn observed. "Why can't the boys dress up like this? Or at least get my hemorroids. That would be nice. I could deal with that."

"Come along now," Erna laughed, taking milady's arm. I smiled to myself as they left.

I was at work removing her clothing from the closet to air them out when _he_ returned unexpectedly. I was so startled that I turned and looked at him fully. He did not immediately look away, likely as startled by my presence as I was by his.

I noted his weariness to begin with. Glances I had taken furtively over the last several months told me of his height and build; today his shoulders drooped and his back was bent. His short, sweaty hair was standing up in places where he must have shoved a hand through it. When he looked at me, I stood frozen in terror.

He simply nodded in what must have been polite acknowledgement of my presence, and went to the washstand. He took up the white pitcher and filled the matching bowl. Bending down, he scooped up handfuls of the cold water and poured them over his head. I could hear his groan of relief.

When he was satisfied, he leaned on his hands over the bowl and let the water drip. He took deep breaths, filling his lungs, and released them steadily. I did not learn until later that he had overheard hurtful words said about milady, and Holger kindly allowed him the remainder of the day so that he might calm himself.

At the time, I only desired a reason to be quit of his presence, and hurried off to the kitchens to ask for the water for his bath to be brought as quickly as could be managed. It was a brief respite; there was still work to be done in their rooms, and so I was obliged to return.

He was sitting leaned back in a chair, his boots taken off, his head resting on the chairback. It was the first time I had seen his bare feet, and I was arrested by the sight of the same claws on his toes as were on his fingers.

It came to me in a blushing rush that _those hands_ worked upon milady's body, and were _welcome_ to do so. I did not know what to think, for my mind had gone blank.

Thankfully, the kitchen servants arrived with bucket after bucket, filling the tub with steaming water. I found myself hurrying through my duties, not even attending to what I was about, so desperately did I wish to depart before he availed himself of the bath. It was common among those above us to ignore our presence and simply go about their business. I expected he would do the same.

To my surprise, he did not rise from his chair. I felt his eyes on me, and turned slightly, expecting a leer or an invitation. There were maids I'd known who told of Men who pressed their advantage upon a servant; it seemed more likely of an Orc.

His expression was one of waiting... waiting for me to leave, I realized. I swiftly hung out the last of milady's trousers to air, then headed for the door. I had to pass by him, and half expected him to grab my arm. The fear was deep in me that he would do some mischief upon my person.

"Thank you, Dagga," he said in his harsh-sounding voice. I was so surprised, I stopped and stared at him. One side of his mouth twitched up in a rueful smile.

It was the first time he had said_ anything_ to me. Usually he kept his distance and his silence. For the first time, I understood how much he wished to put me at my ease, and how hard it was for him to do so, being _what_ he was. I also realized I had not made it any easier for him, ignoring what was before me and only seeing what rumor and history told.

So it was on that day that I faced the Orc and curtsied. Though my voice was hoarse from only recently set aside fear, I said, "You are most welcome." I began to turn away, then added, "Ghrudur." His smile broadened slightly, encompassing his full mouth, and twinkling in his yellow eyes.

They did not seem quite so intimidating after that day.


	3. An Unexpected Guest

**An Unexpected Guest**

While I could not completely set aside my nervousness around Ghrudur after that day, the months that passed since then were considerably less tense. He still rarely spoke to me, but he worked long hours at the forge and often went to bed shortly after his supper. Some evenings when I was by, bringing warm milk to milady to ease her sleep, he was already abed and snoring softly. The sound put me in mind of a hound's warning growl, yet with the constancy of his breathing, seemed less threatening after a time.

It was on these occasions that I saw more of the Orc than I cared to, though not so much as to shock me. He wore no night shirt; only loose linen breeches. Very often, he lay with his back to the room and the candlelight. The first time I stole a glance at his sleeping form, I was stunned by the number of marks I saw upon his back. I had heard rumors of his captivity, but never beheld the evidence of it.

Perhaps because of my growing acceptance of him, I found myself feeling revulsion for the torture of his flesh, not because the flesh was an Orc's.

There came a day when the air was crisp with the promise of winter, the clouds heavy with unfallen snow, that a guardsman arrived at milady's chamber door begging an audience with Ghrudur.

"Beg pardon, miss," he said politely to me. "Would Ghrudur be about? There is... a need for his assistance."

"He is already left for the forge, sir," I replied. "Milady is here; is there something she may do for you?"

The young man looked uncertain and nervous. "Perhaps... she might give advice on the matter, yes," he finally conceded after much thought. Nodding, I bowed him into the room and announced him to Lynn.

By this time, she was awkward and heavy with Ghrudur's child. Erna had been trying to convince her that bedrest would ease her discomfort, but Lynn refused. I found myself as much company for her as guardian; I kept her mind on other things besides attempts at escape from the midwife's orders. I was teaching her to knit, among other things. I must say she was eager to learn, but not a particularly quick study, as though such tasks were entirely new to her.

When the man entered, she rose unsteadily and faced him.

"Is something wrong, Oswin?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Indeed, milady," he replied with a short bow. "There were complaints of attacks east of here; Wymond took a group of Riders, not a full _eored_, but a dozen veteran _eorlingas_ to investigate. They found Orcs, ma'am."

Lynn closed her eyes and bowed her head, nodding in acknowledgement. She appeared deeply saddened by this news, yet forced herself to speak. "How many?"

"There were only four," Oswin said quietly. "They were not... quite Orcs, ma'am. They appeared to be Uruk-hai."

Milady's head shot up and she fixed the man with a startled look. "Are they dead?"

The guardsman frowned, looking uncertain whether to tell this news to Lynn or hold it for Ghrudur. After a moment, he said, "Not all of them, no. One was spared. Two of the men knew Ghrudur, for they often have their horses shoed by Holger..."

"Never mind that, what happened to the one who was spared? Where is he? What was done with him?" Lynn blurted.

Fidgeting even more, the guardsman said, "He was brought back... in chains, ma'am. There are holding cells beneath this very hall; he is within one."

"Why didn't you say so?" Lynn snapped. "Dagga, get my shawl."

"No, ma'am!" Oswin insisted, positioning himself in the doorway. "You should not go down there. He is unable to speak any language but Orkish and has been so violent since his capture that he is chained to the wall of his cell. He cannot be trusted."

"Don't think for one minute I'm going to stay up here and let the bunch of you do a ham-fisted job of dealing with a cornered, frightened Orc," Lynn told him sternly. She quite literally pushed the man away from the door. "And don't worry about the language thing; I speak it just fine. I can talk to him."

"But Ghrudur should really be the one...," Oswin began, only to be cut off by Lynn's brisk tone.

"I like you, Oswin, so I'll restrain myself from telling you to blow it out your ass," she growled. "Take me down to the _god damn_ dungeon _now!_"

Lynn pulled the slightly misshapen shawl she'd made about her shoulders and urged Oswin to lead us down. I confess I had grown so accustomed to being on hand for milady that I did not even question; I simply followed in her wake.

The holding cells were damp and chill. A long corridor stretched from the foot of the stairs into darkness. Only a few guttering torches lit the first half dozen cells, arrayed on either side of the hall. Though the walls were lined with well-fitted stone bricks, a few were crumbling with age. I dearly wished I had brought my own shawl, so cold was it there.

I heard the Orc's voice before I ever laid eyes on him, and found that I could go no further. Though I did not know _what_ he was roaring at the top of his lungs, the sound of it was brutal and violent. His tone did nothing to soften his words. The mere _sound_ of his tongue felt like physical blows upon my ears.

"_Mâdr-izish! Mauk-izish! Azubuk-izg!_" The sound of chains rattling wildly punctuated each word.

"You should not have come down," Oswin repeated in an undertone, giving milady a pleading look. "Cyneric and Eadwig thought he ought to be given a chance, as Ghrudur had been, but..." The man shook his head. "He is not like Ghrudur."

"What do you expect?" Lynn huffed. "They're not all the same, any more than I'm the same as you." Taking a deep breath, she seemed to calm herself. "I'm sorry. What your friends did... Why was he spared? What happened?"

"I do not know all the details, I am afraid," the man replied apologetically. "I only know there were four of them, and he was the only one who was unarmed. The other three... I am afraid they fought hard. Two of the men were lost before they were taken down."

Lynn nodded, then sighed. "All right." She gestured for Oswin to lead the way.

I could not make myself follow, and so only listened. The Orc continued to spew filthy-sounding words; he only paused for a moment when he beheld his 'visitor.' I leaned against the wall and hugged myself.

"_Latu thrakuz-izish sharlob htolat agh throquat. Gaakh nar ghashnat tark kulat skrithûrzu ish-ulub-uz_," the Orc hissed. His tone made me cringe. Quite suddenly, an unexpected retort was delivered by Lynn! I confess, I was shocked.

"_Gûkrat pu-lab, nanulg gûkub-izg ta bag-sha!_" she barked.

A dead silence followed Lynn's response, and I wondered if the Orc was stunned. I almost allowed a very unladylike giggle to escape, so amused was I by the thought of the Orc's expression upon hearing his own abuse thrown back at him.

"I think I can take it from here," Lynn told the guardsman wryly. "Has he been fed? Given water?"

"Nay," Oswin replied. "None feel inclined to get near him. Unarmed he may be, but he has been in a fury since he woke."

"Woke? What do you mean?" I caught the worry in milady's voice, and my own brow creased in sympathy.

"Eadwig was obliged to strike him," Oswin said apologetically. "He remained unaware for most of the ride to Edoras, but once he realized he'd been taken alive, he made things... difficult."

I was itching to see this Orc, quite suddenly. There must be _something_ about him that urged milady's pity rather than disgust. My momentary curiosity was stifled when he resumed his earlier tirade.

"_Throquub-izg lat agh dâg koluz lat-irzi! Azub-izg hinash amirz skaatat lat dhog-izish! Az-izish nanulg mâdr-izish! Âdhn rad!_"

While I trembled in the corridor and chewed my lips in fear, milady spoke as one who could not be ruffled by anything. "He's a real charmer, isn't he?"

"Éomer King is unsure what to do with him," Oswin replied. "He does not feel quite comfortable slaying the beast now that he is here, but... he is not like Ghrudur."

Milady sighed. "No, and he won't be if this goes on much longer. He needs to eat, _badly_. I'm not surprised they took him down without much of a fight; there's almost nothing to him. A good gust of wind would knock him over." Lynn and Oswin emerged from the cell.

"Dagga, run up to the kitchens and fetch some meat for him," she told me. "Raw, maybe a pound, and some bread. Fresh water, as well." I curtsied and all but ran from the dungeon. I heard an argument starting up behind me as I closed the great wooden door; Oswin was evidently not keen on her ladyship feeding the Orc herself.

Nor was I. My hands shook as I went to the cook and begged a bit of meat from the larder.

"What's it for?" she snapped rather waspishly.

"I do not have time for explanations, Siri," I told her. "Milady calls for meat and bread. That is enough for you."

Sigrid did not agree and clutched my arm painfully. "Enough of your cheek, little girl," she snapped. "If it's for that _nieten_, you'll have the scraps from the servant's share and nothing better."

"It is not!" I cried, wrenching my arm free. "You would not be so cheeky yourself if milady was here!"

I ducked her backhand, but was not quick enough to save my ear from a twisting. "Mind yourself, brat. Maybe you were Lady Éowyn's maid, but serving that brazen hussy ain't a step up. You'll take what I'm inclined to give and be glad of it."

Biting my lip against a scathing remark, I did as I was told. Sigrid was simply a horrible woman, even before her husband was lost in Gondor. I knew it would be Lynn who chided me most if I got on the bad side of the cook. _She's not going to like me or Ghrudur, no matter what_, she'd say. _Better to just keep our heads low and not piss her off._ I confess I am not entirely sure what milady says some of the time, for her words are often strange.

It was an embarrassment to present such meager fare to milady – the meat was mostly fat and the bread was at least a day old and hard – but I hastened with my burden down to the cells. Thankfully, she and Oswin were in the corridor; I would not be forced into the Orc's cell to deliver his meal.

"Thanks, Dagga," Lynn said, taking the tray. She eyed the contents then raised her eyebrows at me. I cringed sheepishly. "Sassed the cook again, did you?"

I could only shrug. Though she chuckled, I still felt thoroughly chastised.

"All right," she said with a deep sigh. "I'm going in. Cover me." Oswin and I exchanged bewildered glances, at which she huffed with impatience. "Come on, Oswin." Together, they went into the cell.

To hear her words describing the Orc's state, I anticipated gratitude for being provided a meal. Her words implied he was thin and in need of sustenance. I was wrong. More filth erupted from his mouth, and though he was chained to the wall, as Oswin described, he still possessed enough movement to knock the tray to the floor.

"_Nork bag-lab kraat-ghaara-izish! Lat narpaash tabzat-izish! Nartabzub-izg lat-irzi! Az-izish! Dhûzud az-izish!_"

"Lady!" Oswin cried. "Are you all right!" My heart leaped into my throat; what had the Orc done?

"I'm fine," Lynn snapped. "Just caught me off guard, that's all."

"You should not have gotten so close to his mouth..."

"I don't know how in the hell I was supposed to avoid it," she retorted. "_Tugl za urzkû, agh âdhnub-izg throquûrz lat. Za kulat ur lat nargzab?_"

"_Urgai aaps-lab pugh-ishi-lab! Ukh kraat-ghaara-izish! Âdhn-izish tul. Dhûzud âdhn-izish._"

"All right," Lynn said quietly. I was rather startled, and wondered again what was happening in that cell. But there was no power in this world or the next that would make me look. "I think he needs to calm down, and us standing around staring at him isn't helping. You said they brought him in only last night?"

"Yes, ma'am," Oswin said as they removed themselves from the cell and he locked the door. "He has been like this all night."

She nodded. "It shows. He's exhausted. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he's scared to death too." She chewed her lip for a moment, looking at the heavy door of the Orc's cell as though she could see through the wood. She shook her head. "I'll talk to Ghrudur when he gets home tonight, see if he's up to talking this guy in off the ledge. He's... funny about other Orcs. I'm not sure he'll be willing, but I can try."

"What shall we do in the meantime?" Oswin asked.

Sighing, milady said, "I'll have to come back in a couple hours and try again, I suppose. He's _got_ to eat. He looks like one of those kids they show on infomercials so you'll fall over yourself sending money to them. Just... skin and bones. I can't believe he even _tried_ to fight. Were the others in as rough shape as he is?"

Oswin's brow furrowed, trying to remember what was told to him. I found my eyes going back to the cell door, wondering about this Orc even more.

"There were three others, as I recall from Eadwig's report," he said slowly. "One was huge and was very difficult to defeat. He must have been the leader. As for the other two... not much different from him."

Lynn nodded again. "I thought as much. They can be pretty... hmmm... selfish at times. Times being what they are, their leader must have considered himself to be the most important one and snagged all the food. Likely what the other three caught for him."

"If things were so unfairly managed, why would they endure it to the point of starvation?" Oswin asked.

"What choice have they got?" Milady replied. "Honestly, what choice have we _given_ them? They either hang out with someone who sucks and takes advantage of them, or they die."

Snorting with impatience, Oswin countered, "But we can provide better here. We _spared_ him. We offer him food and drink. We would care for his wounds if he would let us near..."

"How is he supposed to know all that?" Lynn argued. "Why should he believe it? A bunch of Riders came at his camp and slaughtered everyone in front of him. What in hell _should_ he think?"

"If he understood our tongue, we could _tell_..."

"Oh, he understands it, trust me," Lynn interrupted. "He knows everything we've said, and likely knows everything we're saying now. _He doesn't trust us_. He's not _going_ to trust us anytime soon. He has _no reason_ to."

"Perhaps if he saw Ghrudur..."

"Maybe," Lynn shrugged, and headed back down the corridor and the door to the main hall. "It's worth a try. Hard telling what he'll think of _that_, though."

As I followed them from the cells back into the fresher air, I could not help but wonder myself. If I were taken captive by my enemies, would I be quick to embrace any offer of peace or comfort? Or would I seek to protect myself in any way I could, in hopes of regaining my freedom?

* * *

**A/N:** Apologies for the inconveniently placed translations, but Dagmær doesn't understand what they're saying, so neither do you. :) Until you look down here.

**Translations:**

_nieten_ = beast (Anglo-Saxon)

_Mâdr-izish! Mauk-izish! Azubuk-izg!_ = Free me! Fight me! I will kill you all!

_Latu thrakuz-izish sharlob htolat agh throquat. Gaakh nar ghashnat tark kulat skrithûrzu ish-ulub-uz!_ = You brought me a woman to fuck and eat. Let it not be said humans are cruel to their enemies.

_Gûkrat pu-lab, nanulg gûkub-izg ta push-sha!_ = Shut your mouth, or I'll fill it with shit.

_Throquub-izg lat agh dâg koluz lat-irzi! Azub-izg hinash amirz skaatat lat dhog-izish! Az-izish nanulg mâdr-izish! Âdhn rad!_ = I will eat you and the child you carry! I will kill anyone who comes near me! Kill me or set me loose! Leave now!

_Nork bag-lab kraat-ghaara-izish! Lat narpaash tabzat-izish! Nartabzub-izg lat-irzi! Az-izish! Dhûzud az-izish! _= Take your shit away from me! You can't own me! I will not be owned by you! Kill me! Just kill me!

_Tugl za urzkû, agh âdhnub-izg throquûrz lat. Za kulat ur lat nargzab? _= Try that again, and I'll leave you hungry. Is that what you want?

_Urgai aaps-lab pugh-ishi-lab! Ukh kraat-ghaara-izish! Âdhn-izish tul. Dhûzud âdhn-izish. _= Put your meat in your ass! Get away from me! Leave me here. Just leave me.


End file.
